


(guess our fairytale had) a few plot holes

by sailingthenightsea



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: M/M, Manhunt - Freeform, Scary Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), actually kinda proud of this, and here we are, bc that's always super fun, cryptid!dream, eldritch!dream, i am not experienced in writing suspense/horror but i tried, i rlly don't know how to tag this, i stg i don't even watch the streams my sister just got me into it by showing me stuff, if ur subbed to me for other works pls don't leave i'm sorry, minecraft but reality, so enjoy, this is truly the marker of my descent into hell, title from ? by bring me the horizon ft halsey, update: decided i have no shame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:21:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28687809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailingthenightsea/pseuds/sailingthenightsea
Summary: For a moment, George pretends. He lets Dream envelop him, lets himself be consumed. For a moment, they’re both who they used to be, they’re both bright eyed and brave. Just boys, playing king of the hill.They were supposed to live forever.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 41





	(guess our fairytale had) a few plot holes

**Author's Note:**

> i've never written rpf but honestly what's the worst that could happen
> 
> enjoy my descent into madness

He’s alone.

The sun is setting and the shifting light filters through the leaves. A branch cracks underfoot.

His breathing hitches up before he forces it back under control. He has to find the others soon or find somewhere safe to bed down for the night. Getting separated was stupid, so incredibly, unbelievably stupid.

He rests his hand on the hilt of his sword, the weight of it a comfort as the light fades and the sky bleeds into inky dark, pinprick stars and a sliver of moon smiling down at him. His heartbeat thuds in his ears, his hands tremble.

The woods are empty, but he can hear the creaks and groans telling him they won’t be for long. There are no glowing eyes in the growing twilight, but he cannot shake the feeling of being watched.

He is not safe and he knows it.

 _Shelter_ , he thinks. All he has to do is survive the night on his own, then he can find his way back to camp.

_If Dream hasn’t killed them all and destroyed it by then._

He shakes his head. “Not helpful, George,” he mutters. “Stay focused.”

The sun dips behind the hills right as he finds a small cavern that is blessedly empty. It isn’t deep, but there’s an alcove that turns off, hiding him from the entrance. He puts his back against the cool stone wall and stares at the small fire he started to ward off the shadows.

“Just until morning,” he whispers and tilts his head back. It’s a noisy sort of quiet and he finds faces in the dark that make him press further into the wall, curl his fingers tighter around the hilt of his sword. He can’t get warm, can’t shake the feeling that something is right outside the edge of his vision.

The wind whistles at the mouth of the cave and it sounds almost like a haunted sort of singing.

He jerks awake.

“Fuck,” he breathes, heart slamming against his ribs. The fire has almost gone out.

Anything could’ve come up on him while he was asleep. He can’t stop his hands trembling. If a creeper had wandered in-

“It’s okay,” a voice like ice and venom says softly. “I was watching over you.”

The embers of the fire cast only enough light to glint off the porcelain mask. Dream is crouched down staring at him from only a few meters away.

George feels his gaze like cold water in his veins. His stomach twists and knots.

There is a childlike urge to close his eyes like that would make the monster go away. Turn it all into just a bad dream (he can hear the wheezing laughter that remark would have once received still echoing in his head, jarring against the silence of this cave).

“You’re afraid,” Dream says and the fire blinks out, pitching them in total darkness. “You don’t have to be.” His voice moves, bounces off the stone, ricocheting and George shoots to his feet, sword ready.

Laughter echoes and echoes and echoes. It feels like drowning, the emptiness of it where once George knew only warmth.

There was a time the last thing he could imagine being afraid of in the dark was-

“Dream,” he says and it’s a plea, it’s his last thread holding him together, it’s the gaping chasm in his chest swallowing him whole.

“George,” Dream returns, voice low and dangerous and almost, almost familiar.

He remembers bright eyes, crinkling at the edges when he laughed. He remembers freckles and smiles that were more light than teeth. He remembers when Dream’s hands were shaped to hold him, pull and push him away from arrows and blades.

He remembers all of it. He thinks Dream remembers too.

“You’re alone,” Dream asks, closer than he was before.

“Yeah,” George replies, “because you separated us on purpose.”

Behind him, Dream says, “You _let_ me.” George spins and the point of the sword is at Dream’s throat. He pushes it away with two fingers and he steps forward into his space. “You made it _easy_ , George.”

He tilts his head down, drifts closer, and George can’t make himself move away.

“Like you wanted me to find you,” Dream murmurs.

“It’s a manhunt, Dream,” George replies, voice quiet but steady. “I wanted to find _you_.”

Dream laughs.

“They came out here to kill you. We all did.”

“We?” Dream asks. “You came to kill me, George?”

“Yes,” he lies, breathless. He curses himself, but he’s not strong enough to pull back.

Dream moves impossibly closer. “Do it then,” he says, fingers gently brushing George’s wrist, the back of his hand, the hilt of his sword, raising it to his own chest, an invitation, a dare.

George raises his other hand, moves Dream’s mask halfway up his face. He doesn’t want to see his eyes, knows what tragedy awaits him there. Dream is smiling, always smiling. God, George drowns, drowns, _drowns_ in it.

He turns the sword so it’s flat against Dream’s chest. His fingers trail over freckles, trace his cracked, dry lips.

“I loved you,” George says softly. He hopes Dream hears the ache in it, hopes he feels it too.

The smile slips.

“You ruined me, you know,” he continues tiredly. “You promised to protect me, to stay with me.”

“I do protect you, George. I’m still protecting you.”

“No, Dream, you’re drowning me.”

When he drifts forward, it’s half revenge and half desperation. George kisses him like he’s trying to bruise, to impart some of this hurt he carries onto the man who causes it.

Dream kisses back, hungry and chasing. Like a man starving, like drowning and drowning and _drowning_. He walks him back until he’s pressed against the stone wall.

For a moment, George pretends. He lets Dream envelop him, lets himself be consumed. For a moment, they’re both who they used to be, they’re both bright eyed and brave. Just boys, playing king of the hill.

They were supposed to live forever.

George tries to pretend Dream is warm, bright, and beautiful like he was, like he once had been, before—before the corruption, before the end.

God, if only it had been the end, a clean break, a wound allowed to heal.

But the man he mourns, the man he can never reach in his dreams buries his hands in his hair and scrapes his teeth along the soft skin of his neck.

His sword clatters too loud against the ground, metal against stone. Dream sighs and he feels the breath against his jaw.

“You’re looking for something I can’t give you,” Dream murmurs, resting his head against George’s shoulder.

He closes his eyes, aches and aches. When he breathes, it’s ragged.

“George,” Dream asks and, god help him, it's almost gentle, an echo of what Dream used to be.

“You should go,” he says. “They’ll kill you.”

When Dream smiles again, feral and cold, George can hear it in his voice. “They can try.”

George laughs, but it’s desperate, scared, strained and bleeding. He keeps his eyes shut. “Sometimes I can’t tell if any of this is even real,” he says, slightly hysterical. “If _you_ are real.”

“I’m right here,” Dream whispers and it sounds _so much like him_ George’s eyes fly open.

The cave is empty. He’s alone.

**Author's Note:**

> comments & kudos are greatly appreciated! but if ur a dick i absolutely will virtually dropkick you. i know where i am, but ur here too.


End file.
